Dust catches light

 

 
 

May, 2010
 

Dear Grandma

It’s just a few weeks since I said goodbye to you and Grandad for the last time.
I have yet to comprehend that I will never again feel your gentle hands. The hands that held me when I was young, the hands that made the best food, the hands that worked on your beautiful garden and made the finest clothing. The hands that collected Grandad’s photographs in an album so we would remember.

I found some old frames in the loft when we were clearing out your house. I have used them to frame the photographs of you and me when I was pregnant. The spring has come and the grass is getting greener by the day. It is good to see that life returning to the garden.

Because the house is empty now. All of your things have gone. Can you imagine, fifty years of things disappearing in six hours? Deep in the cellar, Ludvig and I found a treasure chest: Pictures from an entire life, contained within a small, red casserole dish. The images you chose not to include in your photo-albums.

After you moved from the house it was as if time stood still.  All of the memories from the past, the present and the future have blurred into one. Now it is over. The waiting. My daughter was born in a bathtub in Oslo, you have gone, and life will return to the house. A new story begins.

Marie